‘Why me?’ Rocco asked, thinking,Bloody hell – a castle!What on earth was he supposed to do withthat?
Beverly shrugged, daintily lifting a designer-clad shoulder. ‘There isn’t anyone else.’
Rocco said nothing. He waited, and sure enough his mother filled in the details.
‘You’re the last of the Tandy Gray line. They weren’t a particularly fertile lot. He had two children – your great-grandmother and Mhairi’s father, who inherited the estate. Mhairi’s father only had one child, and that was Mhairi, but she never married. With her death, the next in line would have been your father; but our solicitor informs me that since he’s no longer with us, the castle is yours, along with everything else she owned. If thereisanything else.’
‘A proper castle, like with turrets and a dungeon?’
‘I suppose.’ Beverly’s tone was dismissive. She clearly had no interest in the details of this unexpected inheritance of his. Her interest would be in its value.
‘Where is it?’
‘The Isle of Skye, apparently.’
Rocco was none the wiser. He knew nothing of Scotland, aside from one incredibly romantic and magical encounter with one of its residents a decade ago. Every now and again, when he least expected it, an image of a girl with long, white-blond hair as pale as liquid silver, alabaster skin, and eyes that had appeared navy in some lights and purple in others, would float into his mind. Rocco shrugged it aside. Now was not the time to be daydreaming about old romantic encounters.
‘What am I supposed to do with a castle?’ he mused aloud. It was a complication he could do without.
‘Sell it,’ his mother said. ‘The Americans love anything to do with Scotland – it might appeal to someone in the States.’
‘Any idea what it’s called?’
‘Coorie Castle.’ Beverly rose gracefully to her feet and Rocco knew she was done. ‘Better get off to your meeting,’ she instructed. ‘I just thought I’d give you the heads-up. The firm handling her side of the legals will be in touch with you soon.’
For once, Rocco’s mind wasn’t fully focused on his job and as he entered the finance director’s office, she immediately picked up on it.
‘What did Beverly want?’ Claire enquired, her gaze on her computer screen. ‘Anything important?’
‘Just some family stuff.’
Those dark brown eyes with their sweeping lashes narrowed fractionally. She hated to be excluded, especially since she would dearly like to be part of said family. And if his mother had her way, she’d marry him off to Claire like a shot. With her acute financial acumen, Claire was an asset to the company, and Rocco admired and respected her. But despite her high cheekbones, glossy brown hair and curvy figure, he wasn’t attracted to her. Even if he had been, he wouldn’t have muddied the business waters, so to speak. Unlike his dad, who had run Moore Asset Management with Beverly, Rocco had no ambitions to work alongside a wife.
And right now, he had no ambitions to actually have a wife at all. He didn’t have time for such luxuries.
After hurrying through those aspects of the meeting that could be hurried through and uncharacteristically rescheduling those that couldn’t, Rocco returned to his office. Nora, his PA, tried to intercept him, but he waved her away. ‘Later, yeah? I’ve got something I need to deal with.’
Curiosity was eating at him. It wasn’t every day one became an owner of a castle.
Coorie Castle was easy to find on the internet, although not as easy to get to in real life, assuming he would want to, although he was surprised and pleased to discover it wasn’t the mouldering pile of old stones he’d been expecting. It was certainly old, as in thirteenth-century old, but it wasn’t a ruin. It was in better nick than he’d thought and was currently being run as a hotel and a craft centre.
Rocco studied the castle’s website with interest, examining the photos with growing excitement.
Set on a rocky outcrop above a loch, surrounded by mountains and with a village nearby, it was incredibly picturesque. Surprisingly, it was white (he’d expected bare stone), but in other respects it was a typical castle – towers, crenelations, wood panelling, old tapestries… No dungeons, as far as he could tell, more’s the pity. It had extensive grounds and a variety of outbuildings, most of which had been converted into a craft centre complete with a gift shop and a cafe.
It was worth a bit, he surmised, but whether that could be translated into hard cash was another matter. Not that he’d had much experience with castles, but he suspected demand wouldn’t be high. As his mother had suggested, maybe a wealthy American could be persuaded to buy it. One with Scottish heritage, deep pockets and a yearning to own a piece of history.
The nearby village of Duncoorie was small, offering little more than a church, a shop with a post office, a pub, a guest house or three, a bakery and several businesses specialising in outdoor activities. And the Isle of Skye, he read, was a magnet for tourists, so if he wanted to sell the castle as a going concern, there might be some takers interested in a business opportunity.
Of course, it would largely depend on the state of the accounts.
An incoming email caught his attention.
It was from Mhairi’s solicitor in London, a firm not too far from the office, in fact. He’d ask Nora to call them and set up a meeting. Then he supposed he should go visit this castle for himself. Only by seeing it would he understand its worth and be able to decide how best to deal with it. Because the sooner he was shot of it and the money from its sale was in his bank account, the better.
Chapter 3
The dawn chorus started even before the first few rays of the rising sun began to drive the night away, as though the birds understood that daybreak was just over the horizon.
